Chapter one

I got drunk and kissed my worst enemy

It sounds ridiculous now, like something you’d laugh about later. But at the time, it wasn’t funny. It was terrifying. Because that enemy had always been the one person I swore I’d never get close to again.

Nathan Hale — the guy who knew exactly how to get under my skin. Sharp tongue, sharper eyes, and that strange habit of being kind only when no one was watching.

After that night, I panicked. I didn’t wait for consequences. Didn’t even pack properly. I just left — boarded the first flight I could afford and fled to Europe. For three years, I built my life from scratch, far from his reach, far from that mistake.

I only dared to come back when I heard he had a girlfriend.

A girlfriend meant he’d moved on. It meant he’d forgotten that kiss.

Or so I thought.

Because the night I returned home, still jet-lagged and half-unpacked, the door creaked open behind me. A familiar voice — deep, cold, too close — shattered my peace.

“You think you can just play around and leave?”

My body froze. My heart stuttered.

Nathan.

He stood there, tall as ever, a shadow dressed in a black suit that clung to him like sin. The faint smell of smoke and something musky — something him — filled the air.

“Plus,” he added, stepping forward, “who runs to wash their hands after being touched by someone they like?”

I swallowed hard.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I muttered, but my voice came out shaky.

He leaned in, lips brushing close to my ear, his breath warm.

“Lucas. Respond to me.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a command, quiet and dangerous. His words slid through me like electricity, making my brain short-circuit.

Tingles shot through my body, each one tearing at my rational thoughts. For a split second, I didn’t move. Didn’t even breathe.

And then—

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang. Reality snapped back in place.

I stumbled back, horrified. Had I really just closed my eyes? Like I was waiting for him to…

No. Absolutely not.

“Dude, I’m straight,” I muttered to myself, half convinced it was a spell I needed to chant.

Nathan said nothing, but the corner of his mouth lifted, like he’d heard me anyway.

How could one kiss from a guy mess me up this badly? Especially from him, the same man who once made my life miserable. And he had a girlfriend now. That made me what — some kind of homewrecker?

I glared at him, muttering, “Scumbag.”

He winced when I kicked his shin under the table.

“Still violent, huh?”

“Truce for now,” I said flatly. “Whatever you came here for, wait till I’m full.”

To my surprise, he listened. He walked to the window, lighting a cigarette, the orange glow outlining the sharp edges of his face.

Smoke curled lazily around him as he stared out, silent — occasionally glancing my way.

And of course, I looked back.

He’d changed. Taller, broader, colder. The faint muscles under his shirt moved every time he exhaled. He looked like someone you didn’t want to mess with — and exactly the kind of person who could ruin you without meaning to.

If we actually fought… I looked at my own arms. Nope. Not a chance.

The most urgent thing was getting Nathan to leave. Because if he decided to “settle” whatever he thought I owed him, I’d be done for.

When I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, his gaze flicked toward me.

“What are you staring at?” I snapped.

“I kissed you a few times,” he said simply. “You bit my lip. Shouldn’t that make us even?”

I blinked. “Even?!”

He stubbed out his cigarette, walked over, and grabbed a napkin. Without asking, he wiped the corner of my mouth, his touch slow, deliberate.

“The debts between us go way beyond that,” he said softly, almost too close. Then he started unbuttoning his jacket.

My chopsticks nearly slipped from my hand.

“W-what else do you want? Look, I just have a big mouth, okay? Don’t take it personally.”

“Your mouth’s pretty tough,” he murmured with a small chuckle. “Makes sense though. You like being bullied.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t tell right from wrong,” he continued. “And when things get hard, you just run instead of solving them.”

Why was he bringing up old stuff again? So annoying.

Three years ago, when he found out I was leaving the country, he didn’t talk to me for half a month. Then one day, he showed up at my desk.

“Will going abroad solve your problems?” he’d asked.

“You planning to never come back?”

I knew what he meant — my father.

“Lucas,” he’d said back then, grabbing my arm, “accept my help. Cut ties with him. No one will ever hit you again.”

I’d shaken him off, laughing bitterly. Two teenagers still depending on their parents, talking about cutting ties? It was absurd.

But now, staring at him — that same intensity burning in his eyes — I wondered if he’d actually meant every word.

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